Along Came December

by Jay Allisan

  He blows out a breath. “My bad. It’s just really good to see you again. You know. Not dead. I almost bawled when they told me to write you an obituary, and when they said you were actually still alive I made them show me before I wrote anything. And you, uh, you didn’t look so good. So seriously, now you look great. You’re breathing on your own and everything.”

  I turn to face him, letting my legs hang off the bed. I adjust the blankets to hide the handcuffs. “What about you? How’ve you been holding up?”

  “Oh, you know, some lost appetite here, some nightmares there. But I think that’s pretty much par for the course in journalism.” He flashes me another smile, but it’s small and tight-lipped. “The, uh, the night you dropped me off here, my apartment caught fire. There’s no real evidence since everything burned down, but the police think James probably ordered it. So thanks. For watching out for me.”

  He clears his throat noisily. “Hey, so I’ve got a problem. It’s about that article I was going to write on you.”

  “The police are telling you not to write it.”

  He blinks at me. “How did you know?”

  I give him a look. “You’re really asking me that?”

  “Oh, right. But yeah, with all this blackmail stuff, they’re trying to keep a lid on what goes out in the media. I could write it anyway, freedom of the press and all, but since they basically saved my life I thought I’d do them a solid. Does that bother you?”

  “Not even a little bit,” I say. “My name’s been in the papers enough.”

  “You should get some peace in jail, at least.” Benny winces. “Sorry. But when James goes to trial and everyone’s interested in you again, will you give me the exclusive? Pretty please?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Benny grins, holding his hand out for a fist-bump. I give him one with a smile. “You’re going to be careful now, right? Just because James is in custody doesn’t mean you’re out of danger.”

  “Your friends are setting me up in a safe house for a while. After that I think I’ll find a bunker.”

  “How would you feel about house-sitting? My place will be empty while I’m in jail.”

  “Maybe not as empty as you think,” Benny says. He scratches the back of his neck, then looks down at his wrist. He’s not wearing a watch. “Well, I’ve gotta run, but I’ll think about your offer and let you know, okay? I kind of like hanging out with him.”

  “Him who?” I ask, but Benny’s already gone, hollering, “See you later!” as he pounds up the stairs. I shake my head, but I’m smiling.

  Another knock comes at the door.

  “Come in,” I say, though I don’t see anyone. I lean sideways. “Hello?”

  “Hello,” says Robin quietly as he slips into the room.

  He stands silently in front of the doorway, his hands clasped, his eyes on the floor.

  I don’t know what to say to him.

  Robin waits, as still as a statue. I stare at him, look away, stare at him, then look away.

  Robin waits.

  There’s movement in the shadows behind him. Dixon pokes his head in and catches my eye. He nods at Robin. I shake my head. Dixon lifts an eyebrow. I shrug helplessly, completely at a loss. Dixon fixes me with a stony look and I relent.

  “Robin,” I say. My voice pitches. I swallow. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Dixon nods approvingly and withdraws from view.

  Robin shuffles forward. “May I sit by you?”

  I blink. “Sure. There’s a chair—”

  Robin sits beside me on the edge of the bed.

  He leans up against me.

  And starts to cry.

  I lift my arm delicately, wrapping it around him. He burrows closer and I wince. “Careful. I got…”

  The words die off. It doesn’t matter that I got shot. Not when I killed his mother.

  I don’t think he heard me anyway. I skim my thumb up and down his arm until he quiets.

  “You okay?” I ask. “The police are looking after you?”

  Robin nods, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “They have been very kind to me.”

  “They’ve been asking you a lot of questions?”

  “Yes. I tell them what I know.”

  “Good. That’s good, Robin. They’re trying to help you.”

  “They said I do not have to leave America.”

  I give a little sigh of relief. “That’s great. I’m glad to hear that. I know Presley will be glad to hear that, too.”

  “I have already told him,” Robin says. “The police let me visit him this morning. He told me many things. He will have to go to jail?”

  “He’s going to a kind of hospital,” I say. “He’ll be gone for a while, but he’ll come back.”

  “And you will be gone for a while?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to jail.” I make the connection between what Benny said and Robin’s situation. “But you can stay in the cathedral while we’re gone. That’s no problem. And maybe Benny will stay with you. You guys have been hanging out the last few days?”

  Robin nods. “We have been roommates. He is… fun? Funny? He makes things seem not so bad.”

  I smile. “That’s what friends do.”

  Robin sighs, his head drooping against my shoulder. I’m still skimming my hand along his arm. I stop. “Robin…”

  “Yes, Mordecai?” he whispers.

  “Did the police… did they tell you…”

  “They told me she was my mother. The woman who shot you.”

  “Did they tell you I shot her? That I killed her?”

  “Yes.”

  I picture the look on Catalina’s face when I said I’d reunite her with her son. The wash of relief. The surge of love. Right before I stopped her heart.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Robin.”

  Robin slips out from beneath my arm and stands in front of me. His soft brown eyes hold no malice.

  He says, “I am forgiving you.”

  My tongue feels like a block of wood, like it’s incapable of forming words. “You’re… what?”

  “I am forgiving you.”

  He smiles, and I have to close my eyes. “Robin, you don’t understand—”

  “You think I am dumb.”

  My eyes pop open. “No! No, of course not. It’s just that there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about, and…”

  “I understand,” Robin says quietly. “I understand I had a mother, and I was taken from her when she did not want me to go. I understand she was looking for me, and she did bad things to find me.”

  “She loved you,” I say. “She was desperate. Just because you do bad things, it doesn’t mean you’re bad.” My thumb brushes against Max’s ring. “Sometimes you’re just scared.”

  Robin looks at me like he knows exactly who I’m talking about. “I understand this, Mordecai. I do not know if she was good or bad because I did not know her. I did not know I had a mother.” He searches my face. “Do you understand?”

  I manage a weak smile. “Explain it to me.”

  “I did not know her, my mother, so even though she is dead I have not lost her. I am sad that I will never know her, and I am sad that she lost me, but I am not sad for what you did. I am thankful. Presley told me you saved him.”

  He looks at me expectantly. I nod, somehow embarrassed.

  “I know Presley,” Robin says. His cheeks get rosy and he gives me a shy smile. “I love Presley. You saved him. So I am thankful.”

  I can’t think of an answer to that, so I say, “Presley loves you too, you know.”

  “Yes, we are gay lovers,” he answers, and I just about choke on my air. Robin’s smile stretches into a grin. “Presley said for me to say that.”

  “Presley’s a smartass,” I retort, but there’s a warmth in the center of my chest. I return Robin’s smile. “He tell you to say anything else?”

  Robin’s expression turns solemn. “There is one
more thing I would like to say, but it does not come from Presley. It comes from me.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  He hesitates, then slowly he pulls back the blankets from my handcuffed left wrist. He lifts my left hand, and just when I’m about to explain the cuffs he touches his finger to Max’s wedding ring.

  “I do not know you well,” he says, “but I know this. You are not bad.” He smiles. “And I am glad it is not you who are dead.”

  Robin puts his arms around my neck. I hold him tight.

  “Me too,” I whisper. “Me too.”

  Acknowledgements

  This book began with two sentences that came to me in a dream, and, over the four years it took to complete the story, evolved into something bigger and more emotional than I was prepared for. The characters in this story face serious issues, and respond to their circumstances in ways that are true to the characters as individuals. Their actions and beliefs do not necessarily reflect my personal beliefs, and should not be interpreted as moral generalizations or moral judgements.

  Some creative liberties were taken for the sake of story, primarily with the timeliness of forensic analysis. Other logistics were fudged on the basis that the characters live in a fictional city with malleable laws, and that the story revolves around extenuating circumstances. While certain inaccuracies were deliberate, all mistakes are my own.

  Thank you to the community on Scribophile who took the time to provide feedback on this story. Shoutouts to Joseph Burgio, Patrick Link, Julia Murphy, Ron Owen, Joyce Stigter, and Roz Watkins. Thank you to Detective Dave Sweet of the Calgary Police Department, who taught me the basics of a homicide investigation and patiently answered my questions.

  Finally, a big thanks to you, the reader who took a chance on a new author. If you enjoyed the book, I’d appreciate if you would consider leaving a review. I can’t say if or when Mordecai will be returning to the page, but I hope you’ll come along with me on the next adventure.

  Until next time,

  Jay Allisan

  For more of Jay Allisan’s writing and updates on

  her next book, visit www.jayallisan.com